


The Ring of Roses

by BiologistBlues



Series: Rainbows Under Stone [1]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Gen, OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiologistBlues/pseuds/BiologistBlues
Series: Rainbows Under Stone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712992
Kudos: 3





	The Ring of Roses

Rainbow watched the monkey from a distance. It shrieked and gibbered as it raked winnings across the table, before flinging them to the floor, tapping the deck, demanding another game. It was frantic, twitchier by far than when Rainbow had first met it. Even its scent had changed, she could smell its fear from rank odors drifting above the fug of smoke and whisky in the dockside tavern.

A tankard clattered across the room as it swept a player away from the table. Rainbow gathered from the frantic screaming that the stake offered was not satisfactory to show their commitment to the game. She tapped the table by her tumbler, trying to ignore where her fingers stuck in the dark pools on the rough grained wood. Something tempting. She had her collection of maps, she had her secrets, but for that card sharp, she wanted something with spice to offer. Something strange. A smile danced over her lips, she downed her drink, waved to the bartender, and strode into the dark fog of the Neath.

She travelled north through the city streets, making a game of it. Flitted from mirror to mirror, chased the lost winds on the roofs, stole rides on barges and hansoms. Waved to those who could see her, toyed with those who could not. Sliced purses and stolen hats were donated to those who ran alongside her for a time, she honestly wasn’t interested in such small trinkets.

Striding up Heartscross Hill, she stopped to appreciate the lights of the city. Then a quick hop over a wall took her into the cemetery. The gate was open, but tonight she felt like following the musings of the breezes. She walked the paths, still dressed like the dandy her whimsy had demanded that she be tonight. That was good. No need for her to be known in the Ring of Roses: her reputation was, justifiably, terrifying.

There- the doors to the crypt were open. Feducci’s games were in full sway. Among the bones of those who died of plague, masked figures shuffled and spoke. Buzzing quiet chatter seeped through the space, making it seem like even the skulls of the ossuaries were watching. In the centre, a ring of petals plucked from grave flowers. 

Rainbow plucked a mask from inside her clothing. She smiled. It was a gift from Rise. A lover’s mask, fit for the Feast of the Rose. Concealing her face, she stepped forwards. A bandaged attendant halted her with a hand against her chest. She chuckled, and spoke the toll. Tales to show that she was not faint of heart, that she had the stomach to make this battle exciting. This was a test of nerve, not of strength. The first one to make a sound was the one to lose.

She spoke of what she had seen in her travels of the Fallen Quarter, of devils and souls, of ghosts, of whispers and burning shapes. She spoke of her time in the Ring of Meat, where her bouts had left challengers voiceless, wraiths of their former selves. She patted the attendant’s cheek as he stood trembling, and passed forward. A knife was handed to her, and she took her place in the ring.

A figure stood opposite her, clad in sable. Someone proud of their fervor. A revolutionary. Perhaps even a colleague. They dropped into crouches as they hefted their blades. From their stance, her opponent was a seasoned fighter, likely cutting their teeth in the Flit. Enough weight to keep them grounded, enough spring in the steps to move fast. An arrogant sway to their hands. Not undeserved, but a folly.

As they exchanged opening swipes, testing each other out, she started to craft a gap in her defence, a flaw that they would see. Something to chase, to seek, to strike at. She let a few nicks through, gritting her teeth at the pain. Then, she struck, lashing out across their face. Their mask fell, a night blue shell sliced in two. Blood flicked into the air and across the ground. Blue shocked eyes stared at her, and a thin cry rang out. She bowed to her opponent, bowed to the crowd, spun on her heel, and strode out. A lady, black ribbon bound, followed her, catching her shoulder. She whispered words from the Presbyterate. A tool, its purpose yet unknown. Except to, perhaps, that old grave crow. A fitting puzzle for an overly anxious monkey.

As the fog of the neath closed around her, tinged cosmogene from her lenses, she allowed images to spiral around her. Cards, players, desires. One step closer to achieving hers. She vanished into the dark, leaving only a wake of smug avarice. One more image shimmered in the mist, a ghost of light laughter trailing behind. It was time to begin the game in earnest.


End file.
